


And the Winner Is...

by cherie_morte



Series: Anita!Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: F/M, Genderbending, Genderfluid Character, Genderplay, mentions of homophobia/transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-25 03:15:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12521712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherie_morte/pseuds/cherie_morte
Summary: It's the night of the Oscars, and Jensen and Jay are both winners.





	And the Winner Is...

**Author's Note:**

> Repost of timestamp to [Oh, My Queen!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12500220) set after the story. Originally posted [here](https://infatuated-ink.livejournal.com/81695.html). Art is by the wonderful [clex_monkie89](https://clex-monkie89.livejournal.com/) and can be found [here](http://clex-monkie89.livejournal.com/960512.html). More notes on LJ.

"Step on this dress and I will kill you," Jay says, her voice light as she laughs. She's not drunk, but she is all bubbly—hah, bubbly. 'Cause that's what they've been drinking.

Alright, so Jensen's not sober either. Cut the man a break, he just won a fucking Oscar.

"You can't kill me," he says, stepping up to her but more careful this time. The train on this dress is unending. It's fucking inconvenient. Makes fucking inconvenient. Whatever. "You love me too much, and 'sides, I bought the dress."

Which makes the stupidly long train his fault. Damn it all.

"Bought, baby, past tense. You've served your purpose now. You're useless to me."

"Ah," Jensen says, finally getting his hand around her waist, his dick pressed to the back of her, and no goddamn bunch of fabric under his shoes for her to lecture him about. "But I can buy more, don't you see? Unless I'm dead."

"Well, fuck," she says, hanging her head a little as she turns and leans against the doorjamb facing him. "Using the promise of future pretty dresses against me is cheating, Jensen. It should be illegal."

"Mmm," he says, cocky smile as he leans in to catch her lips. "But it's not, so I win."

"Again? This must be a good night for you."

Jensen doesn't say anything else, just coaxes her mouth open with his tongue and kisses her slowly. With intent. She returns it like she's dying for him and she doesn't waste any time moving her hand down, cupping his dick in one enormous palm. "Want you to fuck me right now," she whispers.

Jensen damn near shivers at that, even though it's L.A. and the air's not all that cold and she's the one with her shoulders bare while he's sitting pretty in his tux jacket. Oh no, she's not drunk, but she's got enough in her to be pretty fresh. Perfect, she's perfect.

"Much as that appeals to me, I kinda like my house, and that guy next door has had it in for us for months. Can't give him an excuse to call the residence board on us."

"You mean we have to have sex inside like normal people? Can't we just tell them who you are?"

"Oh? Who am I?"

Jay looks him up and down a few times like she's considering the question, cocking her head to the right. "I can't put a name to the face, but judging by what you've got in your hand there, you're definitely not Ben Affleck."

"Aww," Jensen says. "That's cold. He was robbed."

Jay laughs, nudging Jensen in a way that clearly says, 'take out your keys and open the fucking door.' "You robbed him."

Jensen shrugs and fits the key in the lock. "At least he got nominated this time?"

Jay is still snickering as the door swings open and Jensen grabs her by the wrist, tugging her in harder than would be okay if she was any other woman. Jay just grins and shoves him back, and he stumbles, way more turned on by the physicality of the moment than it probably merits.

"C'mere," he says, still pulling her wrist. "Want you to be my witness."

"Oh lord," Jay mutters, following him to the shelf over his fireplace. "There'll be no living with you after this."

Jensen ignores her in favor of positioning his Oscar ( _his_ Oscar) on the mantle where he'd cleared room for it, not really believing it would ever make it there. He steps back to admire his handiwork and feels the breath leave him as it hits him that this is real. It’s really his.

"Good god," he says in awe.

He feels Jay's hand settle on his hip and squeeze him supportively, but she doesn't say anything clever, and for a long minute they just sit there and stare. Eventually, Jensen realizes he should at least try to pretend to be blasé about this and move on with his life.

"There's plenty of room up there, darlin'," he drawls, turning enough to give her a smile. "We gonna work on winning you one next?"

Jay gives him a warm smile, and she looks so happy it almost circles back around to sad. Jensen wishes that didn't happen to her so often around him. "I already won my little golden man," she says, leaning in to press her lips against his briefly. "Don't need anything else."

Jensen reaches up to cup her face and kisses her roughly, and if she'd planned to keep her hair all done up, that's just too damn bad.

After a while she pulls away. The seriousness has all left her expression, and now she just looks downright naughty. "Besides, I don't really think this model is for me. I mean, the nice, smooth texture is great, and I love the color, but the shape is a little strange. It wouldn't feel all that pleasurable."

Jensen's laugh explodes out of him as he can't help mentally picturing Jay trying to use the Academy's most hallowed mark of distinction as a glorified dildo.

"Note to self: never leave you alone in the house with my Oscar." Jensen shakes his head, then turns around to face her. "Thank you for coming with me, Jay."

Her smile softens. "Don't thank me," she says warmly, taking his hand in her own. "It was really incredible."

Jensen licks his lips. "I know this was a big step. And I know you were scared. Hell, I was scared. But you were—"

She interrupts him with a kiss and then swipes a thumb over his mouth, presumably rubbing off lipstick, when she pulls away. "Don't get sober on me."

Jensen lets out a shaky laugh and takes the hint. They'll deal with the fallout—and there _will_ be fallout, Jensen's not pretending otherwise—tomorrow and probably for a long time after that. Tonight, they won. Both of them.

God, the whole world knows she's his.

"Jay," Jensen whispers, stepping in and sliding one hand into her hair, just behind her ear.

She closes her eyes and leans into the touch. "Yes, Jensen?"

"I really fucking love you."

Her lips curl up and she turns to press them against his hand. "Would rather you'd love fucking me already."

"You're worse than a man," Jensen jokes.

Jay snorts and breaks off from him, walking toward the bedroom with her ass swaying hypnotically, dress trailing behind her like it's just as hopelessly lovestruck as Jensen is. He wants to follow her as closely, but there are rules to this game, and he knows how to play.

She turns at the door with a flourish, her body filling the whole gap of the door as she braces her arm up on the frame. "Well, big boy, you comin'?"

Jensen shrugs. "I dunno, was thinking of watching TV. Maybe catch a few Seinfeld repeats, fall asleep on the couch with my beer belly hanging out."

"I'll need someone to help me take my dress off," she says casually. "Know anyone I can call about that while you scratch your balls and drink Budweiser?"

"I do know just the guy, actually," Jensen answers.

Jay closes her mouth and gives him a flat look. It says 'that's what I thought,' without even trying. Then she turns and disappears into the dark of Jensen's bedroom, and he's across the living room so fast he beats her to the light switch.

His other hand wraps around her middle from behind, dragging her in for an embrace that startles a surprised squawk out of her. He lets his lips hover just over the hollow of her throat and murmurs, "What was that you were saying about taking off your clothes?"

"Jensen," she whines. "Quit teasing. I really want—"

"What, baby?" he asks, licking a stripe down her neck. "Tell me what you want."

"You," she says, shaking in his grasp. "You, I want you."

"Mmm," he says, his nose tracing the line of her neck all the way from her jaw to her shoulder. "What do you want me to do?"

"Anything," she says, taking his hand from her stomach and placing it over her chest.

Jay doesn’t usually wear breastplates, not even when she's dressed up as Anita, not unless it's a special occasion. Well, tonight was a special occasion, and the dress was made for more cleavage than a corset or push-up bra could give her. And damn does Jensen love having something to hold on to. He squeezes and her breath hitches like she can really feel it.

Reluctantly, he manages to dislodge his mouth from her salty skin long enough to unzip the back of her dress. He works it slowly, letting his eyes linger on the way her muscles bunch and shift as the fabric loosens, thinking over all the things he might do to her and which he wants most.

The very top of her dress is jewel encrusted, circling just under her neck and hooked in the back. He undoes that part last, and Jay pulls the fabric down off the front of her delicately. She doesn't try to hang it up, which Jensen had worried she would do, but she's cautious as she bends down and places it on the floor.

Then she turns to face him, nothing but a matching blue bra and panties and her tall black heels, the ribbons strapping up her legs all the way to her knee. Jensen's mouth waters at the way they exaggerate her cut calves.

His eyes make the familiar trip up her legs slowly, but he gets caught on her ass and can't make himself look away.

"My boobs are up here."

Jensen glances up, into her eyes, and knows what he wants. He's feeling good tonight. He feels like the kind of man who can satisfy a woman, and he's got one right here to test that out on. "Jay, I wanna eat you out."

Her eyes widen and he hears the air she sucks in, and then she's shaking her head. "Jensen, that's—"

"You said anything," he reminds her, raising an eyebrow.

He bends down to pick the dress up off the floor and tosses it onto the chair across the room. Then he stands up and moves forward, putting one hand on her shoulder and moving his head in a way that tells her to lie down on her stomach. She does it, even though she still looks unsure, grabbing one of their extra pillows and positioning it under her groin.

Jensen doesn't like sucking cock. It's the one thing he's not really been able to get used to. He does it sometimes, when he knows Jared really wants it, and the thrill of making Jared cry out is enough to help him get into it. But it's not his favorite activity; too much to try and focus on at once, never being sure if he's any good, and the uncomfortable sensations and tastes. He would be lying if he tried to say it's a disappointment that Jared is way more into giving head than getting it.

But he always loved eating pussy. It's addicting for him: getting his face all sloppy in the proof that he's driving someone crazy. Being able to make a grown woman cry and quake just from the point of his tongue. He's missed it, and he's never tried it with Jay, but he wants it so bad right now that just the thought is nearly enough to make him come.

He climbs onto the mattress behind her, hooking his fingers in the see-through blue of her panties and tugging them down, careful to brush her hard cock and balls only with the thin fabric. He knows she won't want hands on her tonight.

"God, Jensen," she says, quiet and nearly groaning already. "Jensen, it won't be like—"

"Shut up," he whispers into her ear as he presses up against the back of her, his hands pawing at the meat of her ass.

"You don't have to," she adds.

Jensen frowns, because he hates when she says that, and she says it all the fucking time. Like he's with her out of some kind of obligation. It drives him crazy.

"I said I want to," he snaps. "And you promised anything."

He circles her cunt with his index finger, pressing it in.

"Oh god." She bucks forward against the pillow and reaches out, grabbing another one to hide her face in. "Do it. Do it."

That's more like it. He drops a kiss onto her shoulder blade and works his way down her spine, taking pleasure in her demands that he get on with it already, but not giving in to them.

Finally he reaches his destination and laps up the sweat at the swell of her ass. She's burning up for him, like she always is, and she tastes good now, but he's pretty sure she'll taste even better in a few moments.

He pulls back and licks his lips, wetting his mouth for her. He wants this and he's sure he won't fuck it up too bad, but there's still a little bit of nervousness holding him back. He's had a lot of firsts with Jay, and it's unsettling every time, having to learn something all over that he's felt secure about for the better part of his life.

Once he finally steels his nerves and lowers himself, tongue coming out for one quick, tentative lick at her, his doubts dissolve. She thrusts away from him and then back up, cunt in the air begging for more, and she says his name so hot and so pretty, as if there's nothing he can do that won’t be perfect.

He'll make her feel so good she'll break on him.

Diving down for more, Jensen is slower this time, sealing his mouth over her hole and letting his tongue curl into her like a kiss. She kicks her foot down on the bed, big heels still attached, and Jensen laughs a little as he deepens it.

"Yeah," she says, her voice low and husky, with that Texas drawl creeping in. "Yeah, Jensen. C'mon."

He keeps licking, getting her wet. Her cunt has a different taste than he's used to, more sweat and a little headier. Not unpleasant. Not something he can't get into. 

And he _does_ get into her, his tongue fucking deep and spreading her. He pulls his face away to press two fingers in and he can hear her panting as she rocks against the pillow. She's so wet for him. Hard, too. He knows he's not supposed to be looking for that, but he can't help being distracted by her cock—so fucking huge and so, so hard—as it fucks and fucks down for relief.

It's not easy to find a way to fit his tongue in next to his fingers as he fucks her, but he's rewarded for his effort. She starts crying so loud when his fingers find her sweet spot, his tongue playing just at the edges of her twat. Jensen shoves her into the mattress as he fucks her, his face following without him having to think about it. He fucks her down and down and down, until she's hardly able to lift her hips before screwing back into the pillow, and Jensen wouldn't be surprised if there's a hole in it.

"Gonna, Gotta—" The sound she lets out is almost a sob, surprised out of her. She doesn't get to finish telling him what she needs to do, and Jensen doesn't have the chance to beg for it. Her orgasm hits them both sooner than expected.

Jensen pulls his fingers away and keeps licking as her last few thrusts even out and she finally stops, lying prostrate under his tongue like he drank every last ounce of energy right from her body.

He pulls up onto his elbow and passes his tuxedo sleeve over his mouth and then laughs quietly to himself, hoping she didn't see that. He'd never hear the end of it. Someone important made this suit for him, and he's just wiping her come all over it.

Not that he's sorry, and she's still face down on the mattress, completely limp. Uncaring of the world and Jensen's fashion faux pas—the only sign that she's still alive is the ragged breathing making her body rise and fall as she rests her face on her crossed arms.

"Was that okay?" Jensen asks, getting out of bed to take his clothes off.

"Okay?" she says with a long breath between the syllables as if she's never heard the word before. "Okay?"

"Yes, it means satisfactory, alright, acceptable, unobjectionable—"

"Jensen, I really need you to be quiet and not ruin this for me."

He laughs and finishes stripping quickly, and then he's back on the bed, moving his hand reverently down her back.

She lifts her head to look at him and gives him a gorgeous little smile. "It was wonderful, Jensen."

"Yeah?" he smiles back at her and cups her chin, and she moves up enough for him to kiss her.

"I'm still wet for you," she whispers, putting a little kiss under Jensen's jaw. "So wet, Jen."

She's spent for the night and he knows it, but she's offering him this, and he smiles, reaching down. His fingers circle around her cunt, and it's true. He got her so wet. So open and ready.

"Can I fuck you?"

She nods, burying her face in her pillow again. "However you want."

He gets lube and a condom from the drawer, though he really doesn't need much slick to push into her smooth and easy. She gives a content sigh once he bottoms out in her.

Her sounds of satisfaction are calm now, just occasional low moans as he rolls into her, nice and deep. There's no pressure to make her come; Jensen doesn't have to think about anything except the warm, wet little world he's opened up inside of her.

She gets onto all fours when Jensen tries to reach around her, grabbing both of her breasts through her bra as his thighs make slapping sounds on her ass. 

He takes her for a long, slow ride, and then he falls down next to her. After he's spilled into her, when he's the one that's too tired to move, she lies on one side kissing his face, his chest, cradling his cheeks in her palm.

She gives him one last gentle peck on the lips that he barely returns and whispers something about going to wash off her make-up and take off her tits. Jensen nods, only half comprehending what she's telling him, and slips into sleep wondering how he's got so many good things when just a few months ago, his life was one long, lonely ache.

It turns out life _can_ get better. Because when he wakes up the next morning, there's a mug of hot coffee on his nightstand, and he can smell bacon cooking.

Bacon.

He doesn't even decide to get out of bed. He kind of just finds himself on his feet, walking into his kitchen. He stops in the arched entrance and stares in confused amusement at the sight in front of him.

Jay's making bacon alright and eggs too, from the look of it. She's wearing her frilly pink apron, which isn’t a surprise, and her Oscars dress, which kind of really is.

He leans against a wall and clears his throat. She looks up at him and smiles. "Morning, Mr. Oscar Winner."

"Mornin', Mrs. Oscar Winner," he says.

She rolls her eyes and looks back down at one of the pans she has going. "How'd you sleep?"

"Pretty, uh, pretty good." He shifts his weight and his eyebrows draw together. "That really the kind of thing you want to be cooking greasy food in?"

She looks down and grins, then shrugs. "I like it," she says. "It's too nice to wear once and then leave hanging in a closet."

Jensen's chest tightens up, his heart nearly leaping to his throat, because for some reason that logic makes him wonder if a time will come when he'll wake up on Sundays and expect to find her making breakfast in a wedding dress. And god, where the hell did that come from?

He tries to shove the thought aside and keep his voice level. "Makes sense."

It must not work, because her head snaps up at the tone of his words, and she frowns. "Baby, if you don't want me to ruin the dress, I don't have to wear it. I'm sorry. I know you went through a lot to get it for me."

"No," he says, entering the kitchen and walking up until he's directly behind her. "No, I want you to wear it exactly when and where and how you want to."

He smiles and slips one hand in through the gap on her chest. It's made for showing off cleavage, but Jay didn't bother with the breastplate for breakfast, so there's plenty of room for him to touch her, his fingers teasing at her nipple.

"Jensen," she whines, but she doesn't slap his hand away. "I'm cooking here. That's dangerous."

"You're so beautiful," he tells her, ignoring her admittedly reasonable protests.

"I feel like a princess in this dress," Jay says, turning her face just a little. Jensen doesn't have to see her smile to hear it, but he looks up for it anyway. "See, it's not weird. Princesses must have had to wear princess dresses when they cooked breakfast."

Jensen snorts. "Princesses didn't have to cook breakfast, sweetheart. That's the whole appeal of being a princess."

"Nuh uh," Jay replies. "I've seen _Snow White_ and _Cinderella_. Princesses got shit done."

He can't argue with that—either because it's too sound or because there's no use reasoning with crazy. Jensen's never 100% sure with her.

He makes his way over to the table and sees Jay's laptop open, a long line of tabs to entertainment websites open on the screen. He swallows hard, afraid to ask but unable to resist. "So, uh, what's the word on the street?"

Jay looks up quickly, then back down at the food as she slides it from the skillet to their plates. "I made four different best dressed lists," she says, grinning brightly, like that's her equivalent of winning an Oscar.

And maybe it is, and she's good at acting, Jensen knows that better than nearly anyone. But there's no hiding that edge in her expression, no matter how wide her smile is or how deep her dimples cut.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"Well," she says slowly, like she's stalling. "Nobody thought your outfit was all that special. Sorry, babe. Maybe next year."

Jensen laughs softly. "I won an Oscar, Jay."

"Sounds like someone's over compensating," she says, the words aimed down as if she's confiding in their eggs.

"We've both seen my dick," says Jensen, sitting back and spreading his legs confidently. "Got nothing to compensate for."

She sets the dishes down, one in front of Jensen and one just to his right, and puts her hands on her hips. "See, that's what I don't get. You men think a big dick is all you need to be a man."

"If there're other requirements you'd like me to take into consideration, by all means, share."

Jensen reaches out and catches her, tugging her down onto his lap. She's too big for this, he knows, and he'll have to let her go in a few minutes, but for now he grins up at her.

"Well," she answers, moving down to give him a good morning kiss, "I guess I don't know anything about being a man."

Which they both know is a load of shit, but he doesn't say as much, just drags her down for another, longer make out session until his legs are tingling from the weight and his stomach is begging for food.

He pulls back and swats her on the ass. "Alright, little lady, time to eat."

That gets her up in a flash, because, well. Jay, in all her forms, has never been one to say no to food.

The rest of breakfast is quiet, until Jensen is running his toast along the bottom of the plate, trying to soak up the last of the yolk, and he can't stop himself from asking again. "Jay, how bad is it?"

Her expression is dim when she looks at him. "Some of the stuff I read was really positive, Jensen. We’ve got a lot of support."

He can hear it so clearly without her saying it, but he must be a masochist. "And the rest?"

"No worse than we were prepared for," she answers softly.

Jensen wipes a hand over his face and sighs. It's true, they'd been ready for a shitstorm. But that doesn't make it feel any more okay now that it's here. He's in love, and he's happy, and he shouldn't have to brace himself for letting people know that.

Last night, it had been the same thing. After all the convincing Jensen had to do just to get Jay to agree to come with him, walking the red carpet had been like slugging through a warzone. Some of the reporters had been great, either congratulating them or playing it off. Those were Jensen's favorites, the professionals who stuck to questions about his film and what he thought his chances were and even the inane 'And who are you wearing tonight?' They were few and far between.

Jensen was ready for a lot of the interviewers to forget to talk about _Chiaroscuro_ at all once they realized what was going on with Jay and Jensen, choosing to ask questions about their relationship and make the night political instead. He didn't like that, has never been one to throw his personal life into the limelight, but he knew it was coming and was ready for it, and will even admit that in the long run, him and Jay are doing a lot of good just by letting their relationship be seen and trying to help people make sense of it. Anyway, it's not like Jensen can blame those reporters for wanting to chase the bigger story, the one that will sell. That's their job.

Some had seemed shocked but had recovered themselves in time to pull off bearable, albeit awkward, interviews. Others had flat out refused to talk to him or made nasty or pointed comments until Jensen just couldn't stand it anymore and brushed them off.

But even that he'd been ready for, and somehow they weren't the worst. A handful of the reporters had laughed at her. Not trying to be cruel or intending offense. That had just been their natural reaction. They thought it was a joke. They _thought she was a joke_.

Jensen's fist had curled, and if Jay hadn't been paying attention, hadn't taken his hands every time and smoothed them out, and made it very clear without Jensen needing to say anything that she was very much serious, there's no accounting for what he would have done.

He's going to have a hell of a hard time working in Hollywood for the next however long now that he'll have to cooperate with those reporters after the way they treated her. He knows himself, and that's not the kind of thing he's likely to forgive or forget.

Watching her stand by his side, a perfect picture of love and support, and try to keep her face smooth and dignified through those insults—Jensen had seen her eyes well up, the slight flinch in her expression, he felt her tremble with his arm around her waist, even as she held her smile and her steady voice. She's already been hurt so many times for so many years, and Jensen knows that for all her pride in him, she didn't walk away from that red carpet without some deep new scars on her heart.

She did that for him. She went into that, and she must have known. And then she went on pretending to be fine the whole night, through the awards and the endless after parties. Jensen can't ever repay her for that. Saying her name in some lousy acceptance speech will never amount to that.

"Jen." Jensen looks up at the sound, startling him from his reflections, and the big warm hand around his, squeezing him gently. "Don't go wandering off on bad thoughts, okay? I know this is hard. It's hard for both of us. But fuck them, right? We won. We're happy. We love each other. So they can say whatever they want."

Jensen smiles at her, hoping it looks sure and strong. He can hear her trying to convince herself as well as him. He can feel how hard she wants to believe it. It's not like the words she's saying aren’t recycled, the same things he's been telling her over and over for months to try and calm her nerves about coming out.

And now here he is failing to listen to his own advice. He's got her looking at him like she's worried he's got regrets flashing through his head when really all he regrets is that he can't change the world to make it fit her.

"We really put our foot in it, huh?" Jensen asks it like a joke, but he realizes it really is kind of funny once it's out.

They could have stayed quiet about being together; they might have lived years without it coming to the surface. They could have stayed married and held barbecues on Saturdays. They could have left well enough alone and remained out of each other's lives forever. Instead, Jensen came back for Jared and fell so hard he's still sore and now they went and told the world with a great big boom, neon lights reading 'fuck you if you don't like it.'

They keep blowing up their lives for each other. Whoever had the final call on casting the Winchesters all those years back sure chose the right idiots for the roles.

Jay studies his face quietly for a while, then gives him a smile that reaches her eyes, like she's finally sure he's not about to run out and tell anyone who will listen that he wants a do-over. "Not me, Jensen Ross," she says, giving him a playful grin. "I was careful where I put those shoes. They're goddamn fabulous."

"Women," he mutters, getting up and taking their plates to the sink to rinse them off.

"Your cross to bear," he hears her say easily from somewhere behind him.

He puts the dishes down and turns to look at her, bracing his arms against the counter. She's sitting at the table, leaning on her elbow and watching him with a fond expression, still wearing that ridiculous dress.

She'd look so beautiful in white.


End file.
